Je ne peux pas comprendre le coeur
by Moisie
Summary: Uncertainty, the fiend the prevents being who we really are.


**Authors Notes:**

I decided to write the piece on the spur of the moment, I was inspired by **Bibi** and so attempted to tame my muse. This was the result, I blame **Eloisa **and **Bibi** entirely.

I must Thank **Sicaria** for taking the time to beta this, she has saved me a lot of embrassing typos that would either frustrate you or leave you in hysterics.

Please take the time to review...even if its to tell me its crap!

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

To touch heaven, one must reach for it!

I am sure someone must have said this....it just came to me and suited so I used it.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**

**I cannot comperhend the heart...only follow its direction.**

****

I cannot tell you the exact moment I became aware - it was like a shifting; one moment I was me and the next...I was different.

I cannot even claim the encounter that evoked the change was one of a sexual nature, but rather an innocent smile and mischievous twinkle that caught me unguarded. But then one never suspects a friend to trap them in breathless sensation.

And breathless was how I felt; breathless and greedy! My eyes s stalked her wherever she went, hungrily devouring her image, scent, and I shamefully admit – her touch.

Oh and how I savoured that touch; soft, cool innocence. A delight and torment that made me shiver with excitement and shame. Yes, I say shame; shame because I lacked the courage to speak. For how could I? Rejection and humiliation were the only doors that were open to me, for we are not supposed to savour moments that are given unawares.

_The sheen_ of _butter on her lips at lunch...the image of her fastening her boot... her delighted squeals as received her results._ Yes, the last one is a particular favourite. That morning she grasped me around the waist and embraced me...and for a moment I was allowed to pretend.

Disgusting am I not? A stalker, an enamoured fool that is floored by the simplest of acts. I should be ashamed, using her like that – allowing her the corridors of my mind.

Forget she knows not. I know and that knowledge makes it worse.

Sometimes, when alone, I flirt with the idea of allowing myself the weakness. Of tasting, touching, exploring... knowing. Softly building up the illusion until I climax with the intensity of the sensations. Then waking up in a lonely bath of sweat that leaves a cold reminder of the one truth; she is not there.

If you were to ask me honestly, do you dream of her naked and willing? My answer would be yes...but my dark interest goes much further. I dream of laughing, of smiling, and of tears – with me softly comforting like no other could. Yes, I weave myself into her life, becoming important and alive under her approving gaze. Sick, isn't it?

She kissed me once...fleetingly; flooring me once again, taking away a little piece of me that I didn't know I had to give. I sat in the sat in the hospital wing that day, with my head pressed against the cold stone; wishing that its calm would envelope me, chase away this sickness, this obsession.

A friend isn't supposed to be left trembling at a brief encounter, or cry when somebody unwittingly chooses to love this wonderful person. Love; now that is a word I dare not use for my condition. It's too pure. And my thinking it taints the very essence of what it is supposed to capture.

But yet I am here, ten years later, deciding to be honest and hope that life will allow me to continue to enjoy her...even if only from afar. I cannot hide any longer, and I am compelled by this dark master to try - for what I do not yet know. I shall admit my secret and leave broken. I hope at least the honesty of my confession will prevent her from spitting on me.

She shattered the last of me today...sending a rose. A single pink rose that is as breathtaking as she is; soft, visual, fragrant - all the things that she unknowingly represents to me. I smile as I place it against my lips, savouring its softness. Taken with the moment I run it along my neck, imagining its lips have a soul behind them.

Idiocy, foolishness and heart ache. That's all what this visit would bring, but like a solider into battle I arm myself, tissues, best dress and the rose. I stopped momentarily in the mirror before I left, giving myself a last chance to prepare. Studying the face I only see more lines, not really that different from the younger me. Perhaps the mouth is more set...and the eyes slightly more haunted. Flawed is the only word I can in all honesty compare to myself.

"Beautifully flawed," I laughed at my own cliché as I took my coat and swung it around my shoulders. I pause for a moment at our photo; fuzzy dark hair and a brilliant smile next to my plain features.

"Beautifully Flawed," I repeat, followed by a wistful smile.

Perhaps had I been different this enjoyment wouldn't have been forbidden.

Standing trembling at the door I wait, fixed in my purpose. Trying to convince myself that running is not a good option.

The door opens and my breathing catches. Her unadorned hand appears followed by the face that has haunted my wake and rest for nearly a decade.

She smiles and my stomach flips. I savour the moment without shame. I am allowed this one last pleasure. Smiling an honest, sad smile, I do not hide the glee I feel in seeing her.

"Ginny," she says.

The most perfect and terrible word she could ever speak to me.

My name.

**o-o-o-o-o-o**


End file.
